Vanishing Act
by goblynn
Summary: Alice makes a choice she regrets. Specific characters belong to Disney/Burton.


Upon the untimely demise of Lord Ascot, Alice found herself at home in England and facing an unfortunate future. With the new Lord Ascot—Hamish—now the owner and chief operator of his late father's trade business (the same business founded by _her_ father), yet sorely lacking in any experience of _running_ a business, she knew one of two options lay at her feet: watch as Hamish drove the company into the ground within six months, or take action and save it. She (in hindsight, foolishly) opted for the latter, which is how she found herself recanting her refusal of his proposal from some years before, and (how she hated the idea) negotiating the terms of their marriage.

Thus, she now stood in a bedroom in Ascot manor, gazing at her reflection as her mother fussed over her dress and hair. She felt nauseous, trapped—guilty—and wondered again if there was any chance of escape. She'd tried, early in the morning, fleeing the house before the guests and family gathered for breakfast, stealing across the lawn and taking refuge in the hedge maze. Frantically, she'd searched for _that_ tree, and nearly sobbed in relief when she found it—only to discover that the rabbit-hole was gone. She returned to the house, her mind elsewhere, her mother excusing her odd silence and distant look by attributing it to nerves.

"You will be very happy with Hamish, Alice." Her mother smiled, caressing her daughter's cheek. "You won't have any worries, everything—"

"I don't love him, Mother." Alice's voice was flat, resigned. She would not meet her mother's eyes, focusing instead on the mirror and keeping her tears at bay.

"You may grow to love him, in time." Her mother reached past Alice's ear, adjusting the drape of the veil.

Alice's eyes narrowed. "I don't want to _grow_ to love him. I would rather marry a man I love already—someone who will not laugh at my thoughts, nor judge me for them; someone who is happy to have me and love me as I am, and is not preoccupied with _improving_ me. I do not want to spend my years hoping for a day when I might not resent his presence, or the sound of his voice, or" she shuddered, "his touch."

Alice's mother gave her a hard look, her mouth set in a grim line. "Alice, that is quite enough. I have humored your flights of fancy for too long—I have endured your indecorous ramblings around the globe as a _businesswoman_," she spat out the word, "I have even rallied myself to support you in front of my peers. No longer. Marry Hamish—be what you were born to be: a proper woman." She stepped away, distancing herself from her daughter in body as well as in mind. "I do not think there is a man in this world who is capable of being what you seek. Be happy with what you _can_ have."

Her mother swept out, the clicking-shut of the door loud in the room. Alice bowed her head and wept, doubly hurt by her mother's words: no man in _this world_.

"You make a lovely bride, Alice—but why do you cry?"

She jerked upright, wiping furiously at her eyes. There, in the reflection—the Hatter, bare-headed and looking hale—standing behind her. She spun around, finding herself quite alone. Hands shaking, she turned back to the mirror. He was still there, peering over her shoulder, mouth tight and eyes full of concern.

"Hatter—how—" She looked over her shoulder, again. "How do I see you there, and not here?"

He smiled at her, though it did not reach his eyes. "The White Queen."

They were both silent a moment, Alice trying to regain composure, the Hatter merely watching.

"Why are you sad, Alice?"

"I do not love the man I am to marry."

"Why, then, do you marry?"

She choked back a sob, feeling the weight of her decision. "I agreed to it—to save my father's work."

The Hatter thought a long moment, focusing very hard on the situation, and spoke, his voice quite soft. "I would imagine your father would want your happiness to be of the utmost importance."

She did cry, then, nodding her head.

"Then why do you give your happiness so little value?"

She sniffled. "Because I am a fool!"

His face was pained. "Not a fool. A champion."

"In Underland, perhaps." She wanted so badly to reach him. "I never should have left. I would trade everything I've seen over the past two years if I could only find a way back."

His bushy eyebrows drew together. "The rabbit-hole?"

"Gone," she said, her voice small. "I looked this morning. And I've not seen McTwisp anywhere."

The Hatter's face softened, as it so often did when she stood before him. "You don't need McTwisp or a rabbit-hole to find your way back, Alice." He pointed over her shoulder at the mirror. "This way is much faster."

Her lips puckered in thought. "But that's…" She relaxed, beginning to smile. "I was going to say impossible."

"I once met a young woman full of muchness—she told me she often believed six impossible things before breakfast." His mirror-self leaned close, whispering in her ear; she could feel his breath, though he was not in the room. "Surely one more would not be difficult for someone with as much muchness as you."

Her smile broadened, infectious. His eyes shone, the gap in his teeth showing as he smiled back at her.

Alice reached up, unpinning her veil and dropping it to the floor.

His lips quirked, undisguised interest in his gaze.

She pulled the clasps from her hair, permitting it to fall in great lengths down her back and over her shoulders.

His face changed, something less amused stealing over his features—his be-thimbled fingers lifted a strand, twisting it around his hand like a lady's favor. She watched the color of his irises shift almost imperceptibly, returning suddenly to a vivid green. His eyes said more, though his lips said only, "Shall we?"

She nodded, and stepped toward their reflections, feeling a slight tug on her hair—and passed through the looking-glass, feeling as if she were wading through deep water—when something tugged her hair again and she pitched forward, landing in the Hatter's arms.

"Hello, Alice."

Her face was glowing. "Am I late?"

He laughed, everything about him brighter than it had appeared in the mirror. The hand bound by her hair slipped up to brush her cheek; he looked at her, wordless. Alice froze, waiting, feeling hesitancy in the air—she dared not look away.

The Hatter seemed to sway forward, then paused—finally, he leaned close and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Her heart leapt, feeling more alive than she could remember in many months, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her nose tickled by the curls that had grown long in her absence. He embraced her, burying his hands in her hair, pressing her close to him.

Her lips were by his throat. "I'm never leaving again, Hatter—never."

"I'm happy to hear you say so."

She pulled away, her hands clasped in his. "You're looking well."

His stark-white face lit with two spots of color, his eyes cast down. "I am much better, as far as madmen can be better."

She smiled broadly. "I'm pleased to hear it—I would be sorely disappointed if my Hatter were not himself when I've finally come back to him."

The Hatter's eyes rose to meet her gaze. She could see him swallow hard. His voice was tight—"Have you?"

She tilted her head, not understanding. "Have I what?"

The flush of his cheeks heightened. "…come back to _me_."

She twisted her hands in his, lacing their fingers together. "Yes, Hatter. I've come back to you _particularly_."

"Then you _are_ in earnest? I am _your_ Hatter?"

Alice laughed, pulling her hands free and cupping his face. "Yes, you are _my_ Hatter—and my hatter, too, if you like. My friend, most certainly…and, perhaps, if it interests you…you may well be more?"

His eyes drifted half-shut, a lazy smile gracing his lips. "I should like to be anything to you, Alice. Everything, too. Or even just a hatter."

"Hmm," said Alice, feigning deep consideration of his words, "I _have_ come a terribly long way, and I _was_ meant to marry, today…" She paused, gathering her muchness. "…and I _am_ already dressed for it."

His eyes snapped open, looking her up and down as if only then noticing her gown. "Oh! You mean—that is to say—you would—would—like to—me?" He blinked once. "I should like that very much. I have often thought of it, Alice—having you here, that is, not only having you here and having you to wife, though I suppose it is not remiss of me to admit that I _did_ also consider that, because you are terribly lovely, Alice, and a delightful person to know, and have so much muchness, and I enjoy your—"

"Hatter?"

His eyes refocused. "Yes?"

"Would you do me the honor of asking?"

"Asking? Asking wh—ah. Yes. Of course." He glanced around the room as if he expected a crowd to have formed (being in the White Queen's castle, Alice was forced to admit it wouldn't have been surprising), then took her hands and slowly lowered himself to his knees. "Alice," he hesitated, opening and shutting his mouth several times, no words coming out, before shaking his head once and soldiering on. "Alice—would you be so kind as to take tea with me everyday, in our own little home, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives? I promise to share the scones and cake—even my favorite biscuits—and only ever with you. We can go halfsies, and you may have the larger piece."

She tried not to laugh at his wholly mad proposal. "Of course," she said.


End file.
